


our story to tell, its (a little something) like love

by eltinka



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (four phones beep simultaneously) im back bitches, F/M, i fucking lov e stdydia, kissy kissy smooch smooch, stiles is lowkey anti-capitalist, two dummy idiots kissing for no reason in an unknown area, undeniable power of human love, unedited bc im lazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 10:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4175790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eltinka/pseuds/eltinka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'i'm joking, don't listen to me. but listen to me right now. please kiss me, i'm having a mid-life crisis.'"</p>
            </blockquote>





	our story to tell, its (a little something) like love

He dropped his head to her shoulder. She dropped her heart in his hand.

“God,” Stiles choked on his breath, “when’s shit gonna be normal?” Lydia heard his lungs stutter and placed a cool hand to his neck. Stiles nuzzled closer, inhaling her. “When all this becomes a story to tell,” Lydia says. He splays a hand on her ribcage.

“Now, when’ll that be? I’m losing my mind, here, Lyds. And let’s not forget my lack of faith in fate,  baby, but none of us really talk about that.”

Her manicured nails (they’re teal this week) sink into his skin while her free hand grips his waist. “You need to learn when to not be an asshole, buddy,” she says, lips inching closer to his ear. Stiles says nothing. His breath is shallow. He pulls her to him, let’s their panic and pain collide, tries to melt it into something like love.

“Its not my fault we’re being chased by the supernatural version of capitalist America. Except that it is. But only, like, half,” Stiles says, shutting his eyes when Lydia wraps her arms around his neck. “I’m joking, don’t listen to me. But listen to me right now. Please kiss me, I’m having a mid-life crisis.”

Lydia wants to smack him, but refrains. Her nose brushes against his cheek. Lydia’s eyes track over his, and she just wants to eat cookie dough ice cream with him in the sunset. She aligns her mouth over his. She was ready to nag him quietly, except he leaned in and nearly smashed his face against hers, searching for the comfort and hope that she hid inside. Stiles squeezed her hip. Lydia dragged her lips up on his and then down again, trying to soothe her own anxiety. Her thumb stroked the shell of his ear. He squished them both together, filling in the spaces with her comfort and his passion.

She drew her teeth over his jaw and onto his throat, because maybe she can get the poison out from the skin there, and he eases her away from where he’s just too sensitive for her. Stiles knocks his forehead on hers. Gently pushes her against the wall. Inhales when she exhales, so he can breathe her air, but if it was literal and not mostly metaphorical, he would probably die, literally. Lydia looks up at him with her doe eyes, and he pecks the space between.

Arms still hung around him, and she doesn’t plan on a withdraw. “So…” she begins shyly, overwhelmed under his adoring stare, “how’re you?”

His hands run up to her lower back. “I’m feeling fine. How ‘bout you?”

“Angry, because capitalist America forced me to kiss a dummy.”

Stiles chuckles. “And I’m the asshole.” Lydia nods. “Fuck you, my smartie martie.”

“You’re literally the worst.”

“I’m aware, thank you very much.”

Lydia rolls her eyes and kisses his chin. She relaxes into his form, knowing full damn well that he’s the asshole here, but she savors his hold on her in the moment anyways. 


End file.
